Diana
by Missmishka
Summary: It begins as a missing scene from early in 2x06 then grows from there to past 2x07. Daryl doesn't take too well to bedrest and finds himself a task to keep busy. A Carol/Daryl 'shipper epic. Chapter 12 up & series COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Much of this is written deliberately crude in grammar for a real Daryl POV feel, but it's 2am and I've been working Caryl muses out of my head for a few hours now, so if you see/read something that makes absolutely no sense, please lemme know via private message or review so I can edit.

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

**_Diana, by MissMishka_**

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><p>They'd tried to teach her how to use a gun.<p>

_Idiots._

She hadn't the aggression to wield that as a weapon. Not to mention, jumpy as she was, she'd likely shoot herself or someone on accident when the recoil of the first round firing startled her from concentrating on the fact that she held a deadly thing in her hands.

Andrea, sure. Lori, yeah, came natural to that lioness in the way of protecting her kin. The farm girl, Maggie'd likely be able to show 'em all how it was done with a shotgun, but she held herself back out of respect for her pa.

Daryl had to admire the fact that even with the world gone to shit, there were people damned dumb enough to risk their fool necks for something like "respect." Weren't his place to try changing anything, though, so he kept quiet as was his usual way.

But they were on to something with the idea of teaching the shakier ones how to handle weapons. Just that a gun was too hard and harsh for the likes of Carol.

She needed soft and quiet. Something with that same kind of grace he noticed about her in those more fanciful moments of his that Merle had tried to beat out.

Lying in his tent after Andrea left, bored out of his fucking skull from the inactivity when the others were all out looking and tapping an arrow restlessly against his knuckles, he had nothing but time to let his mind wander on topics like this. His eye was caught by the sight of her once again crossing the camp with a tub of wet laundry balanced on her hip. As she passed him, she graced the youngin, Carl, with a reflexive smile that erased the worry from her face and replaced it with a maternal glow.

Daryl looked hastily away from the scene outside the screen of the tent and stilled the tapping of the arrow. Thoughtfully, he stroked the carbon shaft and remembered bits of the myth of Diana, Mistress of the Hunt. Wasn't much he'd cared to take from schooling, but an odd piece like that had taken hold. Mostly because he hunted and when winter loomed cold ahead, the lure of deer meat to fill his belly and hide to use for warmth were enough to have him paying respects to whichever God or Goddess might grant him a successful kill.

_Just another way in which they were kindred_, he realized with a soft scoff. She was an archer, too.

The crossbow wasn't right, though. Heavier than she'd need; its compact design and spring loading were geared towards making a kill. Her mind didn't work that way, seeing a weapon and wanting to use it for possible harm of another thing. He'd have to break her of some of that, but he rather liked her still having that gentleness in this place.

Inspired and glad for something physical he could be doing, he lunged from the tent with a mission in mind. Every eye in the group that hadn't gone out in search of Sophia instantly snapped on to him as he straightened from exiting his shelter.

"Fuck me, can't a guy take a piss!"

As a lie to deflect their attention, it worked because it was a need he did have. Andrea laughed at him, but Carol blushed and damned near dropped the wash as she hurriedly averted her gaze from him. He'd have smirked at the reaction had he been as cocky as Merle, but being Daryl he instead turned away from the other watchful eyes with the faintest hint of red darkening his own cheeks.

Glenn had been managing to gather some choice pieces of firewood from the eastern property line, so that's where the hunter headed. His back felt naked without the protective weight of Betty hanging across it, but he'd left his bow behind. No one would have bought his nature calling excuse had he wandered off armed with it. Good ol' Bucky'd have to be enough for this little outing and Daryl was pretty sure that even the knife would go unneeded.

His plant knowledge had come some ways since his youth, a necessity to prevent another itchy ass episode, but trees weren't a strong point. Mulberries were good for what he needed and he pretty sure that's what he saw along the edge of the clearing. Taking nothing for granted as to how long their stay there would last, he gathered all the possibilities he could after a quick duck behind a tree to relieve himself. He used the hunting knife to cut a few fresh twigs from a pine tree, knowing it less than ideal, but figuring he could make it work in a pinch.

Satisfied with his collection he turned to head back, momentarily surprised to find he'd ventured a ways from the edge of the clearing and stunned to see Carol standing behind him. He had a childish urge to throw the sticks at her and bolt, but he was too genuinely curious about whether she'd managed to sneak up on him 'cause he was thinking too hard or if she maybe had a bit of stealth in her, too.

"Glenn and Carl gathered plenty this morning," she said with a confused look at the bundle under his arm. "The boy's first chore of the day is gathering."

"Ain't for burning," was all he cared to say as he pushed past her to head back to the camp.

"At least let me carry them. You're bound and determined to rip out Hershel's work on you."

"Don't mother me, woman," he snarled when she tried to take even the smallest twig from his load.

It didn't matter that his side was drawn tighter than a drum in pain, he wasn't the type to double over with it if there was enough breath in him to push the agony aside. She was making too damned many efforts to coddle him and it wouldn't do. He couldn't explain it to her and hated that he even wanted to at the way she withdrew from him at the harsh words. He knew she was most likely baffled by the Cherokee Rose one day and asshole jerk the next, but it didn't surprise him much that she just accepted the change as if it were her due.

Goddamn puppies keeping at your feet to get kicked then giving those damned sad eyes to leave you feeling lower than dung beetle shit.

The unkind thought quickened his pace back to the others and he knew, without her speaking or making any noise about it that she was keeping right up with him. This moment was going to make his gift rather more awkward than it had been bound to be in any instance, but he couldn't keep his head outta his ass sometimes with this woman.

He deftly made three passable bows in the privacy of his tent, using twine for two and fishing line for the third. That was the one he felt she'd go for, which is why he'd strung it different. About eighteen inches long, it looked like a light tug on the twig or line would set both to breaking, but he knew neither would snap for a good while yet.

_Kind of like her_, he grinned as he joined the group around the fire and settled in to whittle points on the ends of the limbs he'd selected for arrow duty.


	2. Chapter 2

You would not believe how much my Carol muse wanted archery!p0rn…or maybe you *will* after reading… :-P Hands down, my favorite piece to write so far for the fandom, so I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer in chap 1. :-)

**_Diana Rising by MissMishka_**

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><p>Even after his harshness of just a few hours ago, Carol still rose and followed him without question when Daryl came to her. He didn't ask her to follow, but she just knew he meant her to when he stopped to stand above her as she sat sewing the sleeves back on to another one of his flannel shirts, knowing he'd need the warmth when the days and nights started getting colder.<p>

She'd glanced up in askance when his boots stopped in her line of sight and he'd given the slightest jerk of his head and begun walking away from the campsite. That he hadn't shooed her off when she broke into the clearing behind him was all the acknowledgement she needed that her presence was desired.

He'd slowed his stride to match hers and they moved in an oddly comfortable silence across the farm and into the woods. Not having explored much, she had no idea where he was taking her, but didn't need to ask. Hard as it was for her to believe herself, she trusted this man. Even before he had proven himself to her with his determination to find her daughter and the kind words he'd had to say when presenting her with that rose, he had begun worming his way past defenses she hadn't even realized she'd erected because of Ed.

Confessing to him earlier that she couldn't bear to lose him to had been hard and his response hurt, but she wouldn't take back the moment even if she could. Despite his volatile reactions to each attempt at tenderness she had made recently, he had never once made move to strike her and that said a great deal to the previously battered woman. She recognized the defensive mechanisms for what they were and was drawn even deeper into the mystery of Daryl Dixon.

After walking a ways into the woods, they stepped into another clearing and her breath caught at the beauty of the place. It was a swimming hole and she chastised herself for wondering if he'd brought her here for skinny-dipping. The chastisement wasn't because of his injury or doubt that he might want to see her naked-she knew enough about men to know and still marvel at that look he sometimes had in his eye when he didn't know she was watching him in the same way he watched her. She scolded herself for that moment of _wanting_ to shed her sweaty clothes, slide into that cool water and know he was doing the same.

It wasn't that she was forgetting her missing child, but God knew her mind needed a distraction from the fear and torment of what her little girl must be feeling and going through. She didn't know how to explain it to him, had tried and failed in the stable that morning, but a mother sometimes knew when the worst had already happened. That stunned disbelief on his face when he had taken her words for giving up on the search for Sophia had kicked her harder in the gut than his calling her a bitch.

"See it," he said suddenly, jarring her from those thoughts.

"See what?"

Wordlessly he pointed just ahead of them to the edge of the water where a bunch of those Cherokee roses had bloomed. The plant was a thing of beauty, appearing so randomly in the wilderness. In the hand he'd used to point she suddenly realized he carried something and she wanted to ask about the curved stick, but kept her quiet since it looked to maybe be a cane and she didn't want to draw attention if he was needing something to prop himself up. It was short, though, and that curve in it didn't make much sense for a walking stick.

"I'll find her."

She couldn't help but smile a little mistily at how he found this plant to be such a talisman. She would have loved to ask him who taught him the story of the Cherokee rose to have had it make such an impact on his life. The tenderness and hope of the story told her it was an old wives' tale and she hoped that there had been a moment of gentleness in his youth where his mother had held him and lovingly related the piece to her child. Somehow, though, she was doubtful of any such sweetness occurring from him at any point in his life and that knowledge pierced her deeply.

His apology, so quietly uttered and unnecessary in her mind, twisted her heart even further and it was all she could do not to cry out. Gulping down that reaction, knowing he'd not welcome it, she tried to brush the words off without letting him see their effect on her. They each saw the knowledge, though, in that split second that their shifting eyes gathered up the courage to meet

"You wanted to look for her," Carol said, forcing herself not to get lost in the beautiful soul shining in his blue eyes. "Why?"

That he wasn't prepared for the question was obvious, but it was something she found herself needing to know.

"This whole time, I just … wanted to ask you."

"'Cause I think she's still out there," was all he'd say and somehow that was enough.

While a foolish little part of her may have sought something more dramatic, his statement was nonetheless profound in its brevity.

"Truth is, what else have I got to do."

And she could see the truth in that, too, but wouldn't let it spoil the moment as he intended.

"We'll find her," Carol said, touching the soft white petal of a blossom and marveling that it did not crumble at her touch. This rose, though, was surprisingly hardy and she hoped it meant something that he saw such import in all of that and shared it with her. More than just the tears of a mourning mother. "We will. I see it."

There, in the peace of this green place where life bloomed in those roses and quiet covered them like a down blanket, she wasn't going to tell them how she already feared they would find her girl. That would be for the nightmares that came at her again in the night. This was a moment stolen for _them_ and she wasn't going to spoil it for anything, selfish as that might make her.

"Come on," he said after a moment, startling her from her momentary study of the still water beside them. "Got something for you."

He surprised her endlessly and part of her wondered if she could handle that over a long term. And if she could ever repay him for it over the shorter term.

Her confusion was evident as he presented her with the stick he'd carried, but she took it automatically because he was giving it.

"It's a bow."

She could see that now that she could see the nearly invisible line that had been tied to the ends and used to hold the stick in its bowed form.

"You need something," he said, answering her question before it was formed in her mind let alone on her lips. "And I'll teach you. It ain't nothing. Just pull and point and let 'er fly. You'll like it."

The speed with which he suddenly spoke told her of his nerves and she wanted to tell him she loved it, but nothing was getting past the lump in her throat. She was glad at his abrupt turn and followed him blindly as just a single tear spilled over to run down her cheek. She honestly didn't know how her heart could take this being so empty and full at the same time, but at her age, a heart attack was a real enough possibility that she wanted to blame it for the pain in her chest.

He didn't go far and she had to rush to get rid of that single track of moisture on her skin, but she knew he knew of it. Thankfully, he wasn't some fool woman to try discussing it as she may have done had their roles been reversed. Sniffling as subtly as possible she saw that he'd taken her closer to the trees at the edge of this clearing where someone had set up a crude target against one of the larger trunks. The lack of any blemishes on the bullseye told her who had erected it and she wondered at where he found the time or energy to think up and do such things.

_And for her, of all people. _

The bow was light in her hand, easily forgotten until he made her focus on it. It had been stripped of bark and reminded her of the "rule of thumb" for the diameter of the wood wasn't much more than a large mans' thumb. It didn't look like much. She was surprised the twig hadn't snapped when he bent it with the fishing line.

He quietly came to her side. After a moment's hesitation in which his hands had risen, fallen, curled briefly into fists, unclenched then risen again, he silently began to show her how to hold the weapon. She had seen Rick and Shane do this on the impromptu firing range, guiding the others on how to stand and hold the guns for optimum effect, but she doubted the feelings had been the same in either of those instructors or their students.

Daryl's strong body at her side, tempted her to lean in and the calluses on his skilled, well used hands raised goosebumps on the arms she knew he tried to touch as impersonally as possible. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been touched by a man. Ed had had problems even before the Zombie invasion, which had been part of the reason for much of his abuse. Even when he had come at her, it had never been like this. There'd never been a touch to affect her like _this_.

"How's that feel?"

Blushing with the knowledge that his question had nothing to do with what she was thinking, she forced herself to get out of her head and focus like he needed her to. She sensed that this was important to him and couldn't allow her silly notions to ruin it. If he wanted her to fire a bow, she'd do it till the bow broke.

Once she put her mind on the item in her hand, she was surprised to realize it was comfortable. The weapon didn't strain her arms and pull at her hands with its weight as the gun had yesterday. The wood was sturdy and solid in her left hand, the line taut in her right. She would have thought the fishing line would cut into her fingers, but it didn't. At his silent urging, she gave the line a few tugs to test the pull and durability. After a moment, she met his questioning gaze with a slow nod to indicate she was okay with things so far.

His lips didn't smile, but she saw the pleased glow in his eyes before he looked away to pull out some sticks he'd fashioned into arrows to go with the bow. Her mouth did curl into a slight grin as pieces from yesterday fell into place and she remembered how intently he'd sat at the campfire whittling points on stick after stick. Maybe she'd learn that none of this man's actions had to be questioned as he'd make his intentions plain enough at some point if given the right time and space to get his ideas seen through.

Some of the arrows were nothing but pointy sticks, but a few he'd adorned with chicken feathers and she took one of those curiously.

"Helps 'em fly," he answered her silent query with a sideways grin and slight shrug to indicate that even he didn't know the hows or whys of that fact.

Letting her keep the arrow she'd selected, he set the others down on the ground nearby then moved to stand at her back. She drew in a shuddering breath at that nearness, which caused his hands to flutter around her shoulders for a moment before they gripped her firmly. He moved her like a puppet, pulling her shoulders back so she stood up straight and squarely lined up with the target. His left arm came around under her own to make sure she had the proper grip on the wooden bow, fingers curled just under the slight groove she realized he'd cut into the stick.

"Ease up," she felt the words more than heard them as his breath moved over her earlobe. "You wanna hold it light and lovin'. It's strong, but breakable. You don't wanna strangle it."

Exhaling a gasp she hadn't consciously been holding, she found her fingers naturally loosened at the same time, obeying his command. The weapon became airless in her grasp and there was something magical about that.

Confident that she had that part ok, he dropped his left hand and raised the right one. His forearm brushed her breast on the way up to guide her grip and they both froze. She was only allowed a moment to wonder what might happen if they forwent this training exercise before he resolutely continued on his task without acknowledging the contact.

He nimbly took the arrow and placed it in her hand. Showing her how to line up the shot on the knuckles of her left hand, while holding the shaft of the bolt between the index and middle fingers of her right hand. The wooden felt odd pressed between her fingers like that, but she accepted the foreignness with just the slightest wrinkle of her forehead while he guided her fingertips to curl around the fishing line. He shifted the arrow so it was gripped between her hand and the bowstring, then stepped quickly away to look at her stance from an objective distance.

She felt a fool there like that without the safe cocoon of his arms making any and everything seem _right_ in that moment, but the quick noises he made froze her before she could drop the stance. She had no idea if he'd meant to say something, but what had managed to come out was somehow enough for her to know she wasn't to move and her even thinking of doing so had earned his displeasure. Carol was somewhat pleased, though, when it made him stomp back into position behind her.

"Pay attention," he ordered, roughly shifted her back to just the way he wanted her. This time, though, he went further. "Inhale," he huffed out as his fingers urged her own to tighten around the bowstring and pull backward.

She obeyed, drawing air into her lungs just as she drew the arrow and line back towards her shoulder. He keep on her until her hand was up under her chin and the fishing line brushed the side of her nose.

"Hold it," and she did.

Her fingers began a slight quiver against the pull of the taut string and her lungs were started to burn with the need for release, but she'd hold that breath til she popped if he chose not to give her another command so long as he didn't leave her.

"Let go."

The breath was all she could think of as it rushed gladly from her chest and as she leant forward slightly to drag in a more shallow gasp, she was stunned to see the arrow was gone. Straightening back to fully erect, she looked for it and was discouraged to see it sticking from the ground short of the target.

"This time, don't blink and don't move anything but your fingers when you release."

He didn't give her time to think of failure as he shoved another arrow in her grasp and rushed her through the process of lining up the shot. With a few urgings from him, she repeated the inhalation, pause and release and found it came easy, even though she missed again.

She didn't get a gold star or pat on the head from him from any of her efforts, but she sensed his approval and she tirelessly kept loading and unleashing the bolts he fed her. He moved further and further from her with each round, but she still felt him wrapped around her with each shot as they came closer and closer to the bullseye. It was surprisingly peaceful focusing on her breathing and trying to get the tip of the arrow to line up with that center circle he'd drawn. Even more surprising was that thrill that rushed through her as she neared hitting that goal.

It was deflating to realize they'd gone through all the arrows lying on the ground and to look ahead and see them decorating the landscape around the target. Her stance dropped and he let it, making her realize that this time was ending. He moved forward to begin collecting the sticks and she was amazed to realize it was approaching evening.

Her muscles began to quiver and complain from the unexpected workout they had received and she was amazed not to have felt the exhaustion sooner. Not once had she felt it. She'd had no urge to give up and lower the weapon in defeat, turning it over to her instructor as she had the gun yesterday with Rick. It wasn't even that she had known Daryl wouldn't have accepted the bow back from her like Rick had taken the pistol. She hadn't wanted to disappoint the hunter or herself by giving up.

"You'll get it tomorrow," he promised with a confidence she let seep into her being as she joined him to pluck the last arrow from the dirt.

He quickly used the bottom of his shirt to swipe the chunks of earth from each tip and surveyed them for damage. A few points had broken from the impact despite his attempt to strengthen them in the dying embers of fire last night and he tossed those sticks aside in disgust. Carol bent and picked them back up, not about to waste his efforts.

"They'll do for practice," she defended with the rejects in hand.

He just scoffed at her with a shake of his head before giving her the others and heading off. She stood for just a moment there wondering what to do next, holding the bow and arrows in her hands. The fingertips on her right hand were bloody and she hadn't even felt them blister during the practice.

Proud of that fact, she shifted the bundle of sticks in her grip, ducked her head through the opening in the bow and slung the weapon over her shoulder just like she'd seen him do his own. Flipping it around so the wood curved along her back and the bowstring crisscrossed her chest, she breathed deeply of this place and held in the memory of their moments here.

It felt…hell, it just _felt_ and that was enough.

Feeling somehow different, she cradled her bundle against her chest and darted off to follow him back to camp.


	3. Chapter 3

I thought this was just going to be a two-piece, but it didn't sit right left as is, so here's more.

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><p>Given the life he'd led and world he'd up to this point, Daryl couldn't comprehend the grief he witnessed. It was consuming her and he was fucking helpless. He needed something physical to battle, something he could kill, gut and skin as evidence that the thing had been taken out by his efforts.<p>

He felt her dying more with each passing day and didn't know how he'd take it much longer. Anger spurred his hands on as he viciously attacked the end of yet another stick. He had a fucking arsenal of handmade arrows and had stopped letting himself wonder if she'd ever use them. The nights were the worst, when the camp echoed with her sobs and his mind replayed that moment of her standing strong and straight and glorious with bow in hand and arrow flying towards a target he hadn't given a fuck if she hit or not.

So he just sat and whittled sticks when his muscle wasn't needed for something and his mind wasn't given something to focus on by Rick.

Sleep wasn't an option.

They all looked at him with the same damned worry they did her as the hollow of his eyes deepened and the rare ounce of fat on him disappeared. There was a healthy dose of fear in there, too, though. With good reason.

Carol was a risk of harming herself, but Daryl was a threat to the others should his last thread snap.

One whoopin' had been far from enough for Shane and Daryl wondered if he could get another one in sometime soon to let off some of the steam. He doubted the others would mind much. Rick hadn't rushed in to stop him the last time. To give the asshole credit, Shane hadn't put up much of a fight, but Daryl suspected that the other man had wanted the blows to come from Rick instead.

That whole fucked up mess was nothing to him, but it was a welcome distraction at times watching the constant drama of Lori, Rick and Shane. He wasn't any happier than Dale to see that Andrea was mixing herself up in it, but the blonde was a grown-up and they all needed whatever reason to keep going that they could find. If his own method of the moment was cutting wood and sticking the tips in the dying fire as daylight broke no one questioned it any more than they did her fucking the muscled moron.

The grit of exhaustion and blowing smoke burnt his eyes, but they didn't tear up none.

He couldn't.

He'd tried to cry, just once, that first night after beating on Shane and stomping away from the group, but it just wasn't in him. The grief tore at him just as it did the others – for Merle and Sophia and Carol and even himself, but he couldn't turn on the waterworks after a lifetime of it being beaten into him that men didn't cry. He figured it was probably for the best, though, given that the womenfolk in the place had cried enough of late to flood the oceans.

It was only as he pulled the last arrow from the fire before it could scorch that the quiet hit him like a ton of bricks. His heart fucking stopped, just as it had been doing each time the sound of her sobbing ceased. He was on his feet in an instant preparing to rush the RV where she slept to insure once more that she was still there and alive, if no longer whole.

They both fell on their asses in the dirt as his rush knocked their bodies together and he scrambled to his knees with knife instinctively at ready before he realized it was her.

"What the fuck you thinking, sneaking 'round like that?"

He hurled the words at her and flung the knife away so it planted its sharp blade safely in the ground nearby. His hands clenched painfully tight at his sides against the urge to grab and hold her, the rush at seeing her up and out of her own accord was so great.

"You've been busy," she observed as calm and quietly as you fucking pleased.

In that moment, seeing her focus on the sticks strewn beside the fire ring he had a jealous urge to throw them all in the fire just so she'd look at him. There was no real reaction to their having collided let alone his harsh question.

As if sensing that, her blue eyes turned to meet his. There was a deadness that made those irises even paler and he closed his eyelids against the pain he'd seen. Moisture began to well up and he snapped his eyes back open with a quick sniffle.

While his eyes were closed, she'd risen to begin gathering the arrows. He remembered that moment near the swimming hole when she'd done the same with the castoffs he'd intended to leave behind and his chest hurt. They were all in his tent, along with her bow, where they'd left them upon returning to the farm and before heading up to the house to check in with the others on Sophia's search.

Thinking about what had followed was something that he still couldn't stand to do much.

"We didn't get to finish," Carol said softly as she turned to find him standing at her side and extended the arrows toward him.

He accepted them instinctively, watching her with caution. This was alien territory and he had no idea what might be coming, so he just kept quiet and waited to see how the wind was going to blow. There was no question that she'd be a little batshit about now, but he had no idea of knowing yet how far the crazy went and in what direction.

"Do you think we could?"

"What?"

"Can we go back there?"

While he'd give anything to be able to taken them back to that time and place outside of all this, he couldn't. She wasn't asking him for that, though, it was just what he wanted to give.

"I think I can do it this time."

She wasn't discouraged by his silence and moved to his tent without invitation to take out her bow. After a moment, she leant back in and came back with his crossbow as well.

"Maybe you can even show me this one, too."

He shifted the arrows he held and, acting again on instinct alone, took the weapon from her. He slung it quickly over his shoulder and watched as she mimicked the motion with her own.

The moment reminded him suddenly of the widow looking at him through a sheen of tears and asking for the pickaxe he'd been about to drive through Ed Peletier's head to make sure the corpse stayed dead. It had been the way in which she had wailed on her dead, abusive husband that had made Daryl take notice of her. Her grief then had been more guilt, but through it, she had still managed to swing that heavy tool until there'd been nothing solid left of Ed above the neck.

As she started off without him towards where she remembered the target to be, his muscled eased their constant tension and he struggled not to collapse from the knowledge that he hadn't read her wrong.

_She **was** a Goddess._

Fighting an insane urge to laugh, he started after her.


	4. Chapter 4

This is a series I cannot let go of. They keep bringing me back here and as I have the Keane song on repeat, I think this is why. It's that moment and place from 2x07 and how it contrasts with the other scenes from the pivotal episode that haunt me. That place Daryl took Carol to show her the Cherokee Rose is just …

**_Somewhere Only We Know, by MissMishka_**

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><p>The moment her feet sank into the lush green grass around the pond, she felt a rare peace of certainty in her choice.<p>

Returning to the swimming hole in no way erased the horrific events that had followed all too soon after that respite, but she had had to know if she would ever _feel_ again. This was the last place she had felt anything but raw and weak and gutted out by grief, so she had known it was her only hope of feeling human again.

The mist of dawn still hovered over the water and drifted on the breeze into the field. It was a haunting sight, like watching spirits rise and a chill raced through her, momentarily freezing her courage at that thought. Then his shoulder brushed so lightly against her own as he moved to stand at her side and it was gone. The fog within her began to dissipate again and she could clearly see her goal once more.

Breathing deeply, she happened to glance down at the edge of the pond where day ago that single flowering bush had grown to grace this are with its beauty. While sadness touched her at the absence of the rose, she knew and understood its most likely fate. The earth it had grown from was torn up and she could only wonder if he'd cut his hands much on the thorns while unleashing his temper on the plant.

"Sorry," his words were quiet, but the shame that had brought them out screamed at her. "I didn't think you'd ever come back here and I …"

She wanted to cover his lips to stop the apology that was so unnecessary, but didn't dare touch him yet. Instead, her gaze searched the area until she saw a faint flutter of white amongst the blades of grass. Her moving toward the fallen blossom was as effective at quieting him as her hand or lips upon his mouth would have been.

"It'll grow back," she assured him with a confidence she truly felt. "It belongs here."

The petal was brittle between her fingers this time, breaking off in her hand where days ago it had been completely unaffected by her gentle touch.

Everything on this land was to that point it seemed. On the verge of breaking apart at the simplest thing where a week ago there had been such strength and burgeoning hope.

Before that line of thought dragged her back into that hollow place she'd clawed free from just an hour before the day began to break, she shook it off and brushed the clinging petal from her hands.

"The target?" she asked, pulling the bow over her head and wondering if there was any real point to having brought it.

"Left that alone," he answered softly, not needing any explanation of her question. "Wasn't the same."

Knowing exactly what he meant, she gave a simple nod of acceptance at his actions and reached to pull an arrow from the bundle she'd left him to carry.

"We'll have to figure out some way of carrying these," she mused. It would rather defeat his goal of her being able to defend herself if she always had her hands full of arrows that she'd have to drop and fumble with in order to get just one when the situation called for action.

"A quiver," he said with a nod of agreement and quickly erased grin. "I'd have grabbed it for you if you'd have given me a chance before running off."

Acknowledging that chastisement with a soft snort of surprise, she took the bolt she'd chosen and moved toward the bullseye leaning against a nearby tree. The painted sheet draped over the straw was still untouched by any tears, telling her that he really had meant it only for her use.

Squaring off with the target, she let indecision overtake her. She unconsciously drew her lower lip between her teeth to gnaw on while she debated how she really wanted this next moment to go. It was an even split as to which option to go with. She wanted to stun them both by putting this first arrow dead center of the red circle on that sheet, but she also knew that if she missed, he'd touch her again to re-teach everything he'd shown her the last time.

_It would be what it would be_, she knew and accepted with a calming breath, adapting as best she could with that mantra to guide her.

Concentrating intently on her memory of their last time in this place, she tried to remember exactly how she was supposed to stand. As her body sought a muscle memory of just how far apart he'd had her feet, her mind provided the distracting memory of how his hands had ghosted over her hips to hold her still while he'd roughly kicked his booted foot between her legs to position her how he wanted.

The lust shocked her as much as it continued to keep her drawn to the thought of going on in this place. If she'd only just started to feel it, she'd excuse it away as some part of the grief process, but part of her coming through that grief had involved embracing that that fire had begun kindling in her before Sophia even went missing.

Even before Ed had been killed, this Dixon had drawn her in a way unlike any other man ever had.

An exasperated huff at her side snapped her from what had apparently been more than just a momentary musing. He didn't belittle or chastise her for not immediately resuming a stance she'd only ever held that one other time, but she sensed the impatience in him.

He could be a little twitchy sometimes, nervous energy just bristling beneath his surface which often led to his pacing the campsite. She had noticed many of his other odd habits like nail biting, picking at the long ago closed edges of that scar on his chest and finding another tiny speck of something to clean from one of his weapons. While not being familiar with drugs, she could tell if he wanted a narcotic or if he'd just always had that sparkplug firing within himself. She leant toward the latter, easily able to imagine Merle trying to get his kid brother hooked on drugs in hopes that they'd mellow some of Daryl's restlessness.

There were times, though, that she remembered him calming. Stilling in her presence. She hoped she was right about thinking herself to have some responsibility for those moments when his mind and muscles settled.

_This was not one of those times_, she knew as he was anything but calm in her presence at the moment.

"Did you come here to do this or daydream?"

"Sorry," she blushed and fumbled reflexively at his bark.

He didn't apologize, but his tenseness eased some at her shrinking back towards the uncertainty abuse had left her with. His hands were strong, but gentle as he silently began to move her.

"You won't always have time to brace," he warned, "but we'll do it this way til you get your aim down."

This time around he seemed to realize her being told these things might her remember them a little easier than just being put in a position and expected to resume it. She appreciated that, even though it meant he wouldn't intend to help her much more with molding her body into a certain posture when he could just tell her to remember the moment he'd first taught her.

"Ya wanna get them shoulder width at first," his foot kicked hers apart and then his hands ran impersonally from her shoulders along the sides of her body to help illustrate how he'd gotten her stance properly aligned. They stilled for a moment, but she knew he was waiting for her to get familiar with how it felt to stand this way so she'd know 'shoulder width' instinctively in the future. And it worked, she'd always remember that this stance was just wide enough that his thigh could press up against her core, but not so wide that any more of him could fit without shifting.

Though she wanted to make that shift, she stayed still as his hands moved away and his leg pulled from between her thighs.

"Take one step forward and plant your foot. That'll be your anchor," she obeyed, but he tsked her back. "Ain't never seen you step that far before," he scoffed, dragging her foot back a few inches from what may have been more a lunge than step on her part. "You gotta keep all this natural. Don't strain for anything. If it ain't comfortable then it's not right for you. Don't force it. There's no one way you 'got to' do this, find a way that works for you and that'll be the right one."

His technique was far better than Shane's, certified instructor be damned, and her body obeyed. She drew herself back to the original stance, then put her right foot forward like they were about to set off for a stroll. The ball of her foot pressed firmly against the ground and her knee held just the slightest bend and she _felt_ that position he wanted.

Braced.

Smiling just a bit at knowing she'd found the right stance, she still looked up to him and warmed at his nod of approval. Without being told, she turned back to face forward and the bow lifted naturally in her hand until her eye was staring straight at the notch he'd cut in the center of the stick he'd used to make the weapon.

"Don't hold your arm so straight," he tapped the soft skin on the inside of her left elbow and silently urged her to drop the joint she held unbending. "You'll wear yourself out trying to keep that up."

She slackened the hold just a little, easing the tension in her muscles with a dip of her elbow, but still holding the bow out far enough from her body that she could draw the string back without interference. Somehow, she knew that's what he wanted. He gave her that simple nod of approval again when she looked askance at him for the correctness of this adjustment.

The next part was easily recalled, as the odd feel of the wooden shaft held between her fingers was not forgotten. She took the arrow up and placed it against the bowstring. His hand came up only briefly to help her level the shot before he seemed to melt away. Without being told, her mouth opened to draw air into her lungs, the fishing line tensing as her fingers drew it back simultaneously. The string slipped free before she intended, shooting the bolt forward to fly into the ground before she finished the inhalation.

"Shit," she surprised them both with the reflexive curse.

Her old self almost dropped the bow to cover her mouth in horror at having allowed an expletive escape her thoughts and actually be uttered, but his shocked choke of laughter stopped her. It was such a rare sound from any of them in these days and she was tempted to go through every curse she knew and turn the air blue to keep him doing it.

"Well, all right, then," he said approvingly, moving back to her side to arm her with another arrow. "Ain't no time for thinking of being a lady anymore. Don't see any bluehairs 'round here to be getting their panties in a bunch over some cussin'."

Accepting the plain truth of his words with a nod, she wiped her fingers on her hip to clear any moisture they may have caused the line to slip then took the arrow and tried again. He stayed behind her this time, so that when she inhaled the breath was filled with his scent. A bit ripe from old sweat, making her think how she hadn't been bothered to bathe for a week and wonder at when he'd last cleaned up. It wasn't at all unpleasant on him, though, nor was the tang of smoke from the campfire she'd pulled him from for this exercise. Holding the breath in, she hoped she wasn't stinking to him and in the distraction of that thought, let the next shot fly.

The red center remained in no danger of being pierced as the tip landed, but she had at least found the target with this arrow. Just catching a corner of that sheet was enough to draw a delighted noise from her and she lowered the bow a fraction and turned to smile back at him. His own smiling lips were level with her gaze at that moment and she sensed the same urge in him that she had to exchange a celebratory kiss.

Clearly not knowing how to handle the moment, he spoiled that particular line of thought by clapping his hands down in a quick clap on her shoulders before moving to retrieve another dart. With no other encouragement, he passed it off to her with a clear intention for her to repeat and improve upon that first success.

For a few hours they kept at it, during which she hit and missed the target equally. Finally, as the exertion began to shake her aim, a bolt found the edge of red in a strike that counted as her first bullseye.

Delighted as she was at the result, she did little more than smile and relax her stance. He made no protest this time and so she lowered the bow, feeling a tiredness chase through her whole being as whole new muscled adjusted to having been so used.

"Sit a spell," he ordered, rubbing all too briefly at her aching shoulders, before taking her place in front of the target.

The lush grass called to her like the softest of beds, but she simply sat as instructed, knowing if she gave in to sleep she'd miss quite a show of marksmanship. He only had the three arrows nested in the holder mounted right on the crossbow, so she knew this would go much quicker than her own time in front of the bullseye.

"Did your dad teach you?" she asked, wanting both to know the answer and to draw the time out.

"That bastard didn't know anything I wanted to learn," Daryl scoffed, not looking at her or showing much distraction. His fingers nimbly pulled an arrow free from its rest, pulled the string back to cock the weapon, loaded the bolt, took only a moment to aim then pulled the trigger. "Was his dad," he answered, while repeating the motions without an acknowledgement to the arrow now protruding from dead center of the bullseye. "Pops had all sorts of things he expected us to know. Didn't believe much in the 'conveniences of the modern age' lasting, so he wanted us to be able to get by like he had. He'd tried to pass it on to pa, but being as he was an asshole from birth, it didn't work with dad. Guess I kinda took to it, though," he mused softly, almost talking to himself as the third and final missile easily found it's place in the center with the other two.

His skill awed her, mostly in that he could be so good at something without arrogance or even any real confidence. Any other man she'd known would have been strutting and bragging around the area, drawing all attention to his success of nailing three bullseyes in a row, but not this one. She doubted he'd even accept her praise were she to voice how his display had impressed her.

"When you get more comfortable, I'll have you try from angles," he said, removing his arrows then walking toward the water to take his shots this time. "Work up to hitting moving targets."

"I don't think I'll ever be that good," she mused, after he placed all three bolts in the center of that red circle again.

"Don't care how good you are, so long as you can use it when you need to." With the arrows deftly retrieved once more, he comes to stand over her to take the next shots with the sun peaking in his vision. "Think you can?"

"Take down a Walker?" she asked, preferring to put it that way.

"Protect yourself," he corrected softly. "Save yourself if I'm not able?"

Not wanting to think of him ever not being able to, she simply meets his gaze for one unflinching moment and gives a nod in answer. Satisfied with whatever he chose to see in her eyes, he gives an accepting jerk of his own head then turns to line up his next series of rapid fire shots.

This close she could see the way his foreleg went briefly taut as he braced himself for each shot. The fine tremor of muscles straining against the resistance of the bowstring as he cocked the weapon for each of the three shots. The intent squint of his eyes against the glare as he lined up the exact path each missile would have to take to hit bullseye.

There was a grace to it that she never would have thought to associate with anything male. Her eyes devoured him, admiring every curve and wanting to smooth every angle. He sensed her intense regard and dropped the bow, casting a quick look around the brightly sunlit area.

"We should be getting back," he swiped a hand across his sweaty brow. "Should be about lunchtime."

"I'm not hungry," she answered, rising anyway as she sensed he wasn't comfortable with her regard. He also appeared quite ready to end their outing and she was ready now for the bigger step in her plans of the day.

"Been at this too long," he tried another tactic. "They're probably out looking for you."

"I doubt that," she scoffed.

"You know they worry. You ain't been all together here lately."

"No," she shook her head with certainty. "We've both been gone all morning. They know I'm either somewhere with you or somewhere that you'll find me."

"Come on," his face screwed up in some confusion at her words and he scoffed them away. "The girls have probably fussed up a storm to get Rick out here finding you."

"You really don't see it, do you?" she mused softly, standing before him. "They trust you too."

His confusion deepened and her smile widened in wonder that she would know this despite all that was happening in her life when he hadn't any clue.

"They'll stay at that camp unless you return there and tell them they need to come looking for me. They all look to Rick for a direction, but don't think I haven't seen how he's started to look to you to guide _him._ I told you, you're just as good as them," she frowned at the memory of what hell Shane had brought down on them that day, "No," she corrected herself softly. "You're better."

She touched him then, running her right hand gently over the scraggly hairs of his beard and stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

"I never knew men like you existed. I thought they were all like violent Ed or Merle or caring like Rick and Dale. I didn't know there could be any real mixing of those opposites, but you are. You hurt others when you have to to keep them from hurting you and you care about others even though you don't think they'll ever care for you."

Carol raised her left hand to hold him still when he kept trying to turn away from her words. Cupping his face in both hands now, she used a kiss to distract him. He froze as her lips pressed softly to his, but she kept the touch fleeting and gave him no time to even think of a reaction.

"They do care, though. It's hard for even them to see it, but they do. You had no need to, but you've proven yourself to that group and they would be lost without you, Daryl Dixon."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There was more intended for this piece, but when that last line came out, it was just such the place to stop and switch POVs again. I've got baking to do for the hellidays, so I can't make any promises as to when Daryl will get his side shared, but I will tell you that this series is going to go hot. While "Moving On" will remain a gentler romance, I'm drawn to the "Diana" theme because of the stronger, more potentially powerful Carol that I see here. And my muses just wanna get smutty with this pairing...


	5. Chapter 5

I went the whole of the holiday without being able to write a bit of Caryl and now feel all shaky getting back to it, so this may be a bit brief and rocky as I ease back in.

Enjoy & hope you all had a Merry Christmas, if that is what you celebrate, and that you're all ready for a new year!

* * *

><p>She had him thinking and feeling so much that he just wanted to scream at her, but she had already let her hands fall from his face and turned away, leaving him to fester in the moment.<p>

He wanted her hands back and hated himself for it. More than that, though, he wanted to lose himself in that glow that had been in her eyes as she praised him.

_Him._

The fingers of his right hand rose to scratch at the scar running across his chest as he watched her stroll toward the edge of the water. Daryl wondered if the moment had even really happened as her words looped in his brain.

"_You've proven yourself to that group,"_ she had said and he wanted to argue that he'd not done a damn thing to prove himself to anyone. He'd just done what he could and, as usual, it hadn't been enough in any way that really mattered.

It was the "too" that replayed most, though, causing a fevered thinking in his head, much as that all too brief touch of her lips had set off something in his blood.

"_They trust you too."_

_**Too,**_ as if to imply that maybe _**she**_ trusted him.

His scratching fingers moved slowly to the jawline that she had touched as he moved cautiously toward her. She was so serene, he kept his step the lightest it'd ever been as he approached, not wanting to startle her from the way she gazed across the pond.

"When you brought me here that first time," Carol said softly as he came to a stop a good few feet from her back, "I thought about skinny-dipping."

If he had still been moving when she spoke, he'd have tripped over his damned feet and fallen at that thought. As it was, his body lurched in reaction to the words.

"Before you let me know why you'd really brought me here," she hurried on to explain. "This place just seems meant for that kind of thing." Her head turned to catch him staring at her ass, "Doesn't it?"

He blinked at her, knowing some reaction was expected, but having no damned idea what he was to say to that.

"This is a scene for lovers."

If she expected a response to that one, she'd have to help him retrieve the tongue he swallowed.

He watched her with narrowing eyes, trying to decide if this was the way she'd chosen to kill him and whether he preferred it to the grief she had been using to cut him up the last few days.

She turned back to study the water when he failed to do more than gawk at her. Her arms wrapped around her waist and his wished they could do that, too. When her left hand began to idly rub up and down her right bicep, his fingers twitched to touch her that way as he considered whether her words had been an invitation.

Daryl Dixon wasn't really a lover, though, so maybe that's why he couldn't see the scene she claimed to envision here. He'd fucked, sure, but nothing that required or set a 'scene.'

He thought about his hand moving to replace hers in the stroking of that bare arm and could only think of the filth he would mark her with. Not just the dirt that he could see on his palms from the work he'd been doing, but the taint from the others his hands had touched and the ways he'd touched.

First girl he'd screwed had done it out of pity. He'd known and taken it, because she'd been so gentle with him after the beating he'd gotten that had sent him to the nurse's office. The girl had always been helping in the office, so she'd seen him stumble or stomp in often enough, needing patched up from a schoolyard brawl or seeking some Ibuprofen from Mrs. Nelson, the nurse, after whatever hurt his father or Merle had done.

The girl's name had been Mildred and she'd not been much to look at, a bit on the chubby side, but she'd been kind. She had locked the door and explained, that first time, how the nurse had had to leave early. She'd then cleaned up the blood from his knuckles and gone on her knees to give him the first blowjob he'd ever had.

He'd never bragged about it, especially when he thought of how quickly he'd finished, and the experience had been embarrassing in more ways than he cared to think about. Still, when he had found himself alone with her the next time he had had call to visit the office, he'd fallen between the legs she opened for him and taken the relief she offered once more. She hadn't been a virgin and he'd learned later that she'd been older. Seventeen to his fifteen.

They never dated. Never spoke or had any interaction outside that office, but for a few months there she had allowed him unlimited access to her softness behind that locked door.

She'd gone on to become a nurse in a prison, he'd known just from town gossip. Some kind of bad boy groupie, the old bats in town had called her and Daryl had always kind of grinned at that. Mildred had married one of the inmates and Daryl didn't grin at the memory of that poor girl having been killed by the fucker her fool heart had chosen.

There had been a few other pity fucks after her. Women who saw his scars and bruises or noticed his quiet way and guessed at the reasons behind it and instinctively just wanted to soothe a wounded pup as best they could. He'd been the giver, too, of some of that same solace, rescuing waitresses from rough customers or rougher boyfriends and giving them comfort in the only way such women ever knew to find it.

Mostly, though, his experience was with the skanks always clinging to Merle. There had been a phase in Daryl's life where he'd escaped the abuses to his flesh with the so-called pleasures of it. That was the stain on his hands that he couldn't touch Carol with.

He'd seen and done things with those women that turned his stomach at the thought of anyone thinking of or doing anything like that to _this_ woman.

Unlike Merle, he'd always been careful, though. He'd worn condoms with every single one. Mildred had been kind enough to start him off with that habit by always putting a rubber on him before they messed around. Daryl had never had need for any of the prescriptions his brother toted around and he had tested regular enough to know he was clean in the medical sense.

The only filth he could spread to Carol was imagined, but that was enough to keep him at a distance from her. Her body was calling to his, though, and he knew if she voiced more than a hint he'd be on her like a starving man at a buffet.

"I must stink," she laughed suddenly, turning her head to sniff delicately toward her armpit without raising her arm.

"Ain't too bad," he found enough voice to say, latching on to the topic in hopes that thoughts of body odor would stifle any ideas of lovers.

She turned a look on him that silently reminded him that he shouldn't ever say anything to imply that a woman ever smelled less than rosy and he grinned unabashedly back at her.

"When's the last time _you_ had a bath?"

He didn't need to sniff at himself to know he was ripe. His stink now, though, was nothing compared to that of some of his longer hunting expeditions. He wasn't about to tell her that, though. Or about any of the times that he'd doused himself with deer urine and any other number of fool tricks trying to bag the biggest buck.

Women never seemed to understand that kind of thing.

"Will you keep watch," she said, so suddenly in front of him that he almost fell back on his ass, "if we go back for some supplies? I'd like to clean up here."

Her eyes asked for more than her words and his gut clenched with want or fear of what she wanted he didn't know. Against his will, Daryl felt his head nod and he followed her back to the camp like a damned puppy, joining Merle's ghost in a mental chastisement that had him feeling pretty snarly.

"We saved you some lunch," was all that their return garnered from the others.

Carol gave him a smug little smile at the lack of any panic or questions from the group before she stepped into the RV to gather whatever she felt she needed. Grunting at the others he grabbed a plate and heaped it full of the canned vegetables and cured ham they'd assembled for the lunch, half hoping he could use the food as an excuse against joining her in the water.

Not a one of them questioned him about what he'd been up to with the grieving mother and it was downright creepy. That Dale nor Lori or Rick felt some need to mention the woman's vulnerability and warn him from taking advantage spoke volumes in support of Carol's statement that the group trusted him. His appetite vanished at the thought, turning the vegetables to an unappealing pile of green mush.

He hadn't asked for their faith in him. Didn't have a damned clue what to do with it.

Lori's rising to cross to the clothesline and pull down some garments, pulled Daryl from his brood. He turned to see Carol having gotten her supplies and come to stand quietly near him. The Sheriff's wife folded two towels, a pair of pants and worn shirt then quietly handed them to the other woman.

"You'll need these, too," he was stunned when Lori turned to him with clean clothes she had collected from the line as quickly and calmly as the other items.

He instinctively accepted the familiar pair of jeans and bit of flannel shirt, feeling like he'd fallen down the rabbit hole or some trippy shit like that. There was a relief in the other woman's eyes that made him want to yell at the whole lot of them.

_When and how the hell had he stopped being the kind of guy that any smart woman never dared go off alone with?_

Sensing nothing but some weird kind of pleasure or pride from the woman standing at his back, he got to his feet with a growl. He gave Carol a glare before he tucked the clothes under his arm and stomped up into the RV for a supply he doubted she ever would have thought of. Glenn wasn't likely to miss one and against his better judgement, Daryl knew he was going to need it.

He jammed the condom in his back pocket, took just a moment to breathe in deeply and bang his head against the cupboards in the trailer then returned to the group outside. Carol fell into step with him without a word as he stalked from the camp.

He sensed a slight tension among the group as at least some of the others had the sense to at least wonder where he might be going with the woman, but no one said a damned thing. They'd all seemed to find some chore to focus on when he stepped down from the Winnebago, but he'd swear with each step he took that they could see the outline of the wrapper in his damned pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

The whole way back, Carol kicked herself for losing her nerve and returning to camp for the supplies.

His silence, though, after their target practice had just put her too much in her own head and she just hadn't been able to see herself seducing him in her current state. When she'd made that show of sniffing her underarm, she'd been mortified to see hairs peeking out from her armpit. Her mother would have swooned at the idea of any decent lady daring to show herself in public unshaven, but Carol couldn't remember the last time she'd been bothered to tend to such piddling details.

It wasn't piddling now, though, and she wanted to be clean and smooth for him. She wanted those fingers that moved so skillfully over weaponry to stroke over every inch of her flesh and feel skin not fur to confuse him as to what he was touching.

While she didn't regret getting the supplies and the bath she truly intended to take, she just wished she would have thought to bring them the first time or that she'd cleaned up before leaving the camper once she'd set her mind to doing this. Now, the whole group would have to know what they were doing and she could tell that bothered Daryl.

He waited until they were back in the clearing before turning on her and his restraint surprised her far more than his anger.

His clothes were flung aside and hers flew along with her supplies when he grabbed her arms to whip her around to face him.

"I'm not your fucking pet," he snarled, giving her time to frown, but not the time to protest.

His mouth slammed down on hers with a force that bent her head back until it felt like her neck would snap. His facial hairs were bristly against her skin, but softer than she would have expected and far softer than his lips, which he kept hard as they ground against her own.

He wanted to anger her with this act, she could tell, but he'd made a tactical error in using physical contact to try transferring his aggravation.

The salt from the ham he'd hardly done more than nibble back at camp was still on his lips and her tongue sought it out tentatively. She tasted, also, the metallic tang of her own blood as the pressure of his mouth had split her lip on a tooth, but that did nothing to change the anticipation that flew through her at the contact.

At the touch of her tongue to his lips, she could feel the anger shift a little further south and Daryl's mouth opened over hers, allowing the moment to become more a kiss than punishment. When their tongues touched, it was like they had both licked a light socket, the zap of electricity was so startling. His hands eased their grip enough that she was able to move her arms, so she wrapped them around his waist for support.

She could feel him, hard and pushing against the soft of her abdomen, and her fingers pressed against the dip of his spine to urge his lower body even closer. She wanted to climb up until that hardness was between her legs or lay down and have all of him press to her, but he yanked back before she could do either.

"That what you want," he snapped, his hands back to steel restraints on her arms. "You wanna fuck?"

While her body screamed yes, and her mind didn't disagree, she knew 'fucking' wasn't how it could be between them.

Not in this place.

If she let their bodies go at it while he was angry and she desperate the result would be something he'd not allow repeated. For whatever his reasons, she knew he'd feel guilty enough over their doing anything and she couldn't give him the added burden of thinking the choice was something he'd forced on her in his anger.

It was hard to tear herself from his arms, but she managed it. He didn't fight her twisting for freedom and she sensed he was actually glad of it as she turned to stumble a few feet away. He didn't speak or reach for her and for a few moments all she could hear was the huff and puff of the breaths they each drew in to get their bodies back until control.

Her gaze landed on a white towel in the grass and she picked it up.

Next was her body wash.

Then her pants.

Carol collected each fallen item methodically, growing calmer with each item added to the armful against her chest. His eyes followed her every movement, but she didn't glance once in his direction.

With everything, including his change of clothes, gathered and disposable razor in hand, she turned without a word toward the water. The floating dock was a trickier proposition than she had anticipated. It would require a wide step to get up on to and she couldn't tell how well it was anchored, if at all, so the possibility of it shifting out from under her was definitely there. She tossed her bundle on to the wooden surface and then bit her lip in consternation before preparing to attempt that step.

He appeared at her side without any trace of the anger from mere minutes before. His hand came up under her elbow, offering the support she had needed for balance to make it onto the landing.

"I'll keep watch," he spoke softly, eyes downcast after he'd seen her safely over and up. "Take your time."

She watched him walk over to their discarded bows and collect his weapon, sliding the strap over his shoulder as he began to pace the clearing. His gaze stayed on the woods, watchful for anything that might threaten them and she wondered if he'd ever even peek at her as she bathed.

Needing him to at least _look_ at her, she took a deep breath to gather her nerve, toed off her shoes and stripped off her sweaty clothes. The warm sun touching on every inch of her bare skin gave her a moment's pause at the realization that she was actually fully naked in the bright light of day and it made her self-conscious.

Even when they had bathed in the quarry, she had kept her underwear or one of Ed's tee shirts on. The former she had kept on out of outdated modesty, the latter she had tended to wear whenever the bruises were too fresh to go without notice or comment by the other women. None of them had ever stripped completely, though, as it was simply too dangerous to be caught that vulnerable and the time it took to dress could prove fatal if there had been an attack.

It felt safe here, foolish as she may be for thinking such a thing. Even if he hadn't been standing guard, she would have felt it ok to get naked and frolic in this water.

And that was still what she intended to do before all was said and done.

Keeping that firmly in mind, she moved to the side of the boat resting atop the little pier and bent to give it a push. It scraped a discouraging few inches toward the edge and she hoped the archery would help her build some upper body strength as she tried again. With a grunt and bit more force, she pushed again at the side of the craft until it tipped off the edge of the dock and fell over into the water with a satisfying splash.

Even without looking, she knew that the noise had achieved her objective, but looking was the whole point of the exercise. Rubbing her hands together as if to remove dust, she straightened and turned in a deliberately slow circle to face him across the clearing.

Their eyes didn't meet across the distance, but she was ok with that given how his gaze didn't move from her bare breasts and the way they jiggled with the movements of her hands. Now that he had been forced to acknowledge that she was there, naked, it was time for her to get on with her preparations for taking the scene further.


	7. Chapter 7

She was a punch to the gut that stole his ability to breathe or think rationally.

The sun turned her skin pure gold and she was in her element, basking there in the wonder of nature. It was enough to make him want to drop to his knees in worship, but he couldn't manage to move more than his eyes, which followed the gentle sway of her tits as she shook off her hands.

He knew enough about women to know when one was manipulating and it surprised him to find her capable of doing so, but, like any man when presented with a fully naked female, he wasn't gonna argue. The boat had been a blatant move to get his attention and he appreciated the effort she'd made, but could have told her none would be needed. No matter his intentions for better, he knew he'd have lasted five minutes max before sneaking a peek over to see if she were naked on that dock.

_And she most definitely was._

As she settled herself gracefully on the edge of the wooden platform to dip as much of her legs in the water as she could, Daryl sucked his lower lip between his teeth and began to creep closer. He wanted to stay away, keep his eyes on the woods for threats he felt sure wouldn't dare come to this sacred place, but she drew him.

He could almost swear he tasted her on his lip and his tongue kept tracing over the flesh as if it could still feel her there, too.

Kissing her had been a mistake, no matter how lacking in intimacy the gesture had been.

Touching her had been and _would_ be a mistake.

She twisted him all up inside and it couldn't end well. He wanted to push her away on the same breath he wanted to hold her tightly. He felt compelled to worship her and yet needed to destroy the hold she had on him.

When his hands had gotten a hold of her, he had allowed himself only to maintain his grip on her rather than see whether his hands would maul or caress that soft, pale skin. The urge to do both had been strong enough to make his arms shake and he still hadn't a clue which way his touching would go, but he did know it would be going somewhere.

For whatever her reasons, she wanted him and he couldn't fight it as he was drawn ever closer to her fascinating actions.

He'd never seen a woman shave and the sight was a wonder. There was so much skin she dampened with water then lathered with soap and his eyes followed every careful swipe the razor made as she dragged it over her lower leg until all of the soapy residue had been removed. Her hands then glided over the flesh, feeling to make sure all the hairs had been removed and his palms itched with the want to perform that task for her.

She repeated the motions with her left leg and he continued to creep inch by inch closer, but ground to a dead halt when she started in on her thighs. The splay of those legs, even if he couldn't see what lay between them from that angle, hardened every muscle in his body and the woman had to know it.

Forget Goddess, she was a goddamned temptress.

A Siren. Luring him to danger and ruin like the legend of old.

And he only hoped she really meant to let him crash into her.

He stood gawking as she finished, moving quicker once she got to her underarms. There was such a look of satisfaction and accomplishment on her face when she finally set aside the razor that he wished he were close enough to kiss her just then.

Wished he were there to run his hands over all that skin to double check the work for her and make sure there wasn't a stray hair to spoil the result of her efforts.

The desire was strong enough that it got his feet to moving again and he wasn't bothering to creep this time. As if sensing his approach, she glanced up at him, sideways and coy. Their gazes held for just a moment before she grabbed the plastic bottle of bodywash and pushed herself off the dock into the water, pure dare in every stroke she took through the pond to distance herself from him.

Never one to resist a challenge, no matter how it was issued, Daryl hopped up on the deck while yanking his shirt up over his head. He placed his crossbow down carefully near the edge, just in case, tossed the shirt aside then squatted down to deftly unlace his boots enough to tug them off. He removed and dropped his knife near the bow then hurriedly stripped off the rest of his clothing.

Without a thought or care for the condom he'd grabbed, he straightened long enough to get her in his sights then dove into the cool water.

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><p>I know, I know. You can't believe I'm just leaving it there without the next chapter righ there to follow because the next chapter is like *the* chapter and everyone wants that chapter. But you see, it's 2:30 am and *that* chapter was supposed to have been the chapter before this one, but my Carol muses decided they weren't ready yet and they tossed the hot potato topic to Daryl and, God love him, you know how he'd fumble with a surprise like that so *his* muses weren't about to tackle the next scene from his perspective and my Carol muses are content to take control of things again, but it's late and I'm tired and I wanted Caryl smut to go to sleep on, but they only gave me more foreplay, so I'm off to pout until they decide they're ready to get clean and oh-so-dirty in that water! Which will hopefully be tomorrow since I caught the extra day off for having worked Christmas day and I PROMISE I will put all my ficcing energy in to the next chapter of this series. Especially since I don't anticipate many chapters to it after the next one.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

I simply can't write this without input from them both, so it's split into two chapters, both heavily influenced by the music of Jimmy Eat World. Subtitle for this section taken from their song of the same because the opening lines of "Here you can by anything. Anything that scares you. I think that scares you." Something of that just moved my Carol muses to this scene.

**_Just Watch The Fireworks, by MissMishka_**

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><p>His splash through the surface stopped Carol in mid-stroke and she tread water without turning to watch as he swam toward her.<p>

She hadn't looked back to see if he had stripped before diving in and she was nervous as a virgin to find out. His strokes slowed as he drew nearer and saw she wasn't going to make him chase her any further than he had.

Breathing deep, she ducked down beneath the water and through the murky depths saw the shape of his clearly nude body as it drifted nearer. Her head broke the surface again just as he got close enough that she could start making out the interesting parts of him, if she'd have had the nerve to really _look._

She gasped for fresh breath and wiped the water from her face before turning her back to him and popping open the top of the bottle she held like a lifeline. She had no idea if the cleansing would have any real benefit under water, but she needed the distraction of trying and squeezed a dollop of gel into her palm.

She let the bottle float free and rubbed her hands together to work up a lather. His chest pressed into her back as he reached past her to grab the container before it could move away on the small waves they were making on the surface of the pond. Her hands froze then fell to the water as his lower body floated into contact with hers and she felt _him_ against her.

His left hand moved hesitantly beneath the surface to find the curve of her waist then slide around it until the flat of his palm pressed against her stomach and pulled her back into tight contact with him. When she made no move to get away, he dropped his forehead to the crook of her neck and just breathed there for a moment.

"Be sure."

It was both a warning and plea, growled against her skin before she felt his tongue trace the trail of a drop of water along her neck. She couldn't find words to assure him of her conviction that he, _this_, was the only thing she was sure of any more, so she simply tipped her head to the side to give him better access and grabbed his forearm around her waist to anchor herself to the moment.

His mouth moved upward, beard tickling against her skin in a way that made her shudder and when he exhaled a breath against the back of her ear a whimper of pure need escaped her throat.

She'd never know how much of it was her turning and how much was him turning her, but suddenly they were front to front and mouths locked together.

The violence from earlier was still there, a temper of passions clashing that she welcomed this time. Her hands were still slick with traces of soap as they tried to find purchase on his shoulders and she ended up clawing at his back to keep him close while her body tried to meld into his.

The calluses on his fingers on her own back had her gasping into his mouth and his tongue dived into the opening she gave him. Her legs drifted upward and wound naturally around his waist and he was so suddenly inside her that they both froze.

It had never happened like that before for her and she wouldn't have believed it possible if she her muscles weren't still adjusting to the sudden thrust of him in her core. She could see in the dazed wonder of his own gaze that he'd never before honed in so easily on that target as they began to sink beneath the surface.

He kicked to get their heads back above water and the motion jostled his length inside her and she threw her head back in a silent scream as nerve endings that had been months without stimulation roared to life.

Orgasms had always been something she had to work on and achieve alone with the help of a vibrator and fantasies of a moment like this, so she couldn't say for certain that that _was_ what she had had just then. All she knew was that the world went black for a second or so and the next thing she knew he was struggling to keep them from drowning again. She was utterly useless in the endeavor, clinging to him like and albatross and relishing every twist and twitch his body made as it fought to keep them afloat.

He cursed creatively as he rolled to his back and began to awkwardly try kicking them back toward the dock.

There was nothing smooth about it like in movies, but even in hindsight she knew there would be nothing sexier than their fumbling in that water. Focused on the wonder of that, she searched out his lips and silenced the cursing with a kiss that quickly had them sinking again.

"Can I at least come, too, before you kill us?"

His snarl was so unexpected and the words so .._him_, that she laughed out loud. He stared at her smiling face in shock as she unwound herself from him and reluctantly separated their bodies. Her hands were ineffectual in keeping him above water when he started to sink from just staring at her and she laughed again when he sputtered out the liquid that had sucked into his mouth.

His glare illustrated his displeasure at her amusement once he regained control of himself, shoving his wet hair back with an angry hand before he lashed out to grab her neck. She sensed the hesitation in his fingers in the moment before he yanked her face to his and claimed her smiling lips once more. The realization that he had had some inner debate against strangling her in that second did nothing to dampen her excitement at the heat of his mouth.

She wanted that mouth on her neck again. Wanted to feel it on her breasts and between her legs. Wanted to feel _him_ back between her legs.

With that goal in both their minds, they began to kick toward the dock together, mouths parting as briefly as possible until they finally came up against the wooden edge of the landing. It shifted away from them when their shoulders hit it and they both reached grabbed for it instinctively. Anchored to the raft and it to them, they wrapped their free arms around one another and clung for a moment.

His breathing was harsh and ragged as he pressed his forehead to hers. The sound of it was somehow erotic to her and she drifted forward to wrap a leg around his waist while his fingers raked down her back to grip her hip.

The water was clearly no place for their joining, though, as they released the dock to hold one another tighter and immediately went under again.

Daryl snarled back to the surface, gave the raft a murderous glare and pushed away from her with a curse to heave himself up on to the wooden floatation. He immediately knelt at the edge to pull her up from the water, but she found herself unable to lift her arm to help him as she found herself gawking.

His … erection was right _there_ and she found herself wanting to touch it. It wasn't as round as her favorite toy had been, but the length curving from his groin up toward his belly button was impressive and she knew why her inner muscles had strained. They'd never been used that far in. She dared to let a single fingertip brush at the tip of him and he cursed her when the curious little touch almost overbalanced him back into the water.

He regained control of himself with a white knuckled grip on the edge of the dock and tightly closed eyes after shifting his leg to protect himself against another touch. A promise of retribution burned in his gaze when he looked at her again and she felt only anticipation as he bent to grab her under the arms and hoist her violently from the pond.

He nearly threw her off the other side of the skinny pier once he had her out, letting her go like he'd been burnt then flopping back to lay on the wooden surface. His actions were only somewhat surprising as she got to her knees beside him.

He'd thrown his arm over his eyes to block out the sun, and possibly her existence, and his chest continued to heave with breaths drawn for control. The exertion had a flush of red coloring his upper chest and her hands went to that heated skin.

Instantly, at her touch, his body froze and she grew bolder.

There was only the slightest scruff of hair on his chest, a dark little tuft between his pectorals that her fingers brushed over idly before moving to the nipples that had peaked at her caress. Hers had always been almost painfully sensitive, causing her to bottle feed Sophia, so her touch to his raised flesh there was hesitant. When his chest pushed up into her hands and she saw his fists clench, she suspected he had a liking for the attention and bent to lick the nipple nearest to her.

"Goddammit, woman," he snarled, suddenly grabbing the back of her head to yank her mouth to his.

He rose up to bend her back to the dock, coming over her like a wave crashing and sweeping her along under his aggression. Her hands curled up under his arms and clung to his shoulders at the onslaught, writhing up into his body as he kneed her thighs apart and moved between them.

His length stabbed into her again in one sure thrust that broke apart their mouths to gasp. Her fingernails dug into his flesh as the pleasure of the joining arched her body like a bow. His hands bruised her shoulders as he tried to lock her in place beneath him as he cursed above her.

"I'm trying to _not_ set any records here," he huffed, warning her that his control was sorely tested by her every movement.

"Just…move," she gasped, part order, mostly plea as her body shook beneath him.

She planted her feet on the solid surface of the dock and prepared to buck her hips up into his when he suddenly pulled out and moved quickly away. Eyes glazed with lust, she didn't see him go for his discarded pants, but her vision cleared enough to watch his teeth tear into the edge of a familiar wrapper.

"No," she stopped him from tearing the corner of foil away to remove the condom.

Ed had worn the things after Sophia's birth, for which Carol had always been grateful, but the idea of that kind of barrier between Daryl and herself was somehow repugnant. Her body had already known the heat and texture of his bare flesh within it and nothing else would ever be acceptable.

The gray of her hair was from the stress of her life lived, not the number of years she had seen, so the risk of pregnancy was there between them. There was no irrational thought within her to get pregnant, no thinking to replace one child lost with a new life, but she knew she would have no regret if conception occurred.

He froze with the bit of wrapper in his mouth and the condom shook in his hand until she steadied him with her fingers coming up to remove the item and toss it aside. Her other hand reached for him, thinking only of bringing him back to her self. She felt the sticky moisture on the tip of his shaft, knew it was a combination of both their essences and lingered to stroke without considering the consequence.

"Shit."

The expletive conveyed anger, embarrassment and disbelief as he doubled over from the convulsion that raced through him at her caress.

And she belatedly remembered all those warnings on the firing range about hair-triggers.

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><p>SORRY! I just couldn't let this go off without a hitch...pun maybe kind of intended. Not to worry...still writing!<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

_She should have come with a damned warning label_, Daryl decided as he collapsed back to the dock in his humiliation.

He imagined he could hear the laughter and sarcastic clapping of his brother as his skin burnt with little to do with the heat of the sun glaring down on him.

After a few moments, she finally moved and he didn't want to, but felt compelled to look. She got to her knees and shifted to the edge of the platform to dip her hand in the water. She was Goddamned smiling as she splashed the semen from her skin and that angered him enough that he stopped wanting to roll off the side of the dock and drown and started wanting to kick her grinning ass in.

It was a fine ass, though, and he'd not gotten nearly enough time with it, so his body made no move whatsoever to act on that momentary fantasy. She showed him more of that soft, curving flesh when she grabbed her dirty shirt and bent further forward to dunk it into the pond. She pulled the material up from the dunking and wrung the as much moisture out as she could before turning on him with the cloth.

He scooted back from her instinctively, having no damned idea what was going on in _her_ head, but stopped when his hand slipped off the platform. Her eyes gently chastised him for the show of mistrust in the moment before she began to carefully wipe the stickiness from his flesh.

She found the simplest way to turn him on quicker and harder than the filthiest porno he'd ever watched and he knew in that moment that he could just give up hope of ever getting some upper hand in dealing with her. He was putty in her hands and she molded him back to full erection with such tender care that nothing else mattered.

Her tongue replaced the wet shirt against his skin and he damned near came again like a teenager in his prime rather than a grown man well past it. His eyes squeezed shut as he enjoyed it for just a moment, hand going reflexively to cup the back of her head and urge her mouth to do more than lick. His spine snapped taut as a bowstring when she obeyed and sucked his dick between her soft lips.

If her hair had been longer, he'd have knotted his fingers in it, but the stray thought of why she most likely wore the locks so short eased his grip.

Part of him wanted to shift her around so he could get a taste between her legs, but he'd never been much good at that and didn't want to fumble the moment any more than he already had. She responded to the pull of his hands when he put them to her waist and urged her atop him. Her leg swung over his hip to straddle his body and in that instant he imagined her mounting his bike and knew he'd have to have her riding with him whenever they moved on from this place.

He'd already slipped inside her twice, but the other times had almost been accidental. This was deliberate.

Their bodies poised with the intent to join.

_To mate,_ he thought, eyes straying for a moment to the condom she had rejected.

Questions tingled on the tip of his tongue, but now didn't seem the time to ask them and he knew he never would seek the answers. Their chances were too slim to delay or distract from a moment like this long enough to think and question motives.

Survival meant acting and reacting to the situation with the basics of reflex. If it was instinctive for her body to want his, then he'd simply thank the Gods and give her whatever she sought from him.

Unfamiliar with the emotion and _want_ for this woman, he laid there like a bump on the proverbial log while she grasped his shaft to hold him steady as she sank down.

His hand prints would be bruised into her flesh from how he grabbed at her waist, fighting his body's want to thrust and conquer as it slid into that tight, hot notch between her thighs. On any other woman, in any other place or time, he'd call it a pussy, snatch or cunt as was the crude way he'd known all his life, but nothing as coarse as all that was to be allowed in the presence of his Diana.

Instead, he could only label it as his haven and home as she came to a rest with him buried balls deep inside her. He'd like to think that he could have stayed like that forever, just lying there with his body and hers as close as humanly possible, but, fortunately, she didn't give him the chance.

With a tensing of the thighs that clasped his hips, Carol's body rose above him, pulling that warm, safe place away and forcing his body to rise in pursuit. She dropped back down unsteadily, and his hands tried to keep her tight to him, but she defied him and raised up once more.

Their dance and pace was jerky.

Awkward from lack of practice and use.

He wanted to just bend her back until she lay beneath him so he could pound to completion like a rutting animal, but the grace and power of her was so mesmerizing.

She kept her head tipped back, lower lip bitten between her teeth as she found the rhythm her body wanted.

The only sound she made were erotic little pants when her body bounced down against his then quiet little whimpers deep in her throat when she rose and their bodies threatened to part.

He wondered if she was always a quiet lover or if the time and place just made her show such restraint. He wanted to tell her things, _faster_, _harder_, _**please**_, but he too, could only pant and grunt.

His hands were useless on her hips until she finally dropped her head forward to look into his eyes and wrapped her fingers around his wrists. He broke eye contact to watch as she dragged his hands up her sides then around to the front until they cupped her breasts. The flesh was just enough to fill his palms and he found himself clenching the softness without thinking.

She just made a sound of distress and ground her pelvis against his hipbone until he eased up the pressure. She didn't let him pull away, though, when he would have for mishandling her so. Her fingers pressed harder into his wrists and urged him on to explore and fondle her chest.

Her nipples were hard and rosy and when he plucked at them with finger and thumb, her body bowed into his touch. He did it over and over, rasping the each tip with the rough pad of his thumb in between tweaks of the nub.

Her mouth gaped open to let gasping breaths out as her hips began to move harder and faster against his.

Instinctively, he raised his head up and urged her chest down until he could draw a teat into his mouth and the breath that choked out of her could well have been a scream. Not needing any further assurance that he was on to something good there, he slid his hand from the breast he sucked to curl it around her back and press her deeper into his mouth.

He understood, in that moment, a Walker's want to devour and did his damnedest to take in every inch of the flesh.

Her right hand slammed down on the dock for balance as the fingers of her left hand wound in his short hair and held his head hard against her. Any rhythm she had found with her body was lost as she began to thrash atop him, her breath burning and tickling his ear as she bowed her head towards his.

Sensing her losing control helped him find his and his hand moved from her back to smooth over her butt. He tried to urge her to slow her pace once more, but she was lost in a fever running through her. He could feel it travelling through her delicate frame, twisting and shaking her in the moments before her muscles clamped down on him like a vice and she wailed in his ear.

The cry on her lips was that of his name and he cried out wordlessly at the sound of it while his body raced after hers to completion.


	10. Chapter 10

When his fingers had plucked at her breasts, she'd drawn as tight as the bowstring before firing.

His mouth, hot and wet and hungry on her nipple had shot her flying into the sun, her whole body finding the goal of release as naturally as any of his arrows found their target.

She collapsed into a shuddering mass atop him and his arms wrapped around her in welcome, allowing her to feel that the same convulsions ran through his body.

That they had found their release together this time sent a warmth of contentment through her that she wished they could luxuriate in.

Carol wanted to speak, but sensed that a "thank you" would come out in place of the "I love you" she felt and neither phrase had a place between them in that moment. The silence was enough as their bodies slowly returned to normal breathing and heartbeats.

The feel of his hand, awkwardly at first, stroking up and down her spine made her want to cry and she pressed her mouth to his shoulder to stifle the urge. As if sensing the heightened state of her emotions, his stroking stopped and he simply pressed the flat of that hand to the dip of her spine and anchored her to him.

Her head raised to look into his eyes but found his lips waiting instead. There was a celebration and sentiment in the softness of his mouth moving beneath hers that she knew she'd never need the words from him.

That their hunger for one another seemed to have increased now that it had been exposed and fed this bit was something she marveled at.

_Sex had never been…_

…_but then, __**this**__ hadn't been sex_, so she really had no call to try making comparisons with her past.

She let go of that annoying little habit then and there and embraced the moment and future with him.

From here on out was uncharted for them both and they'd have to fumble through it together.

The knowledge of that thought was in them both as he shifted her gently to his side and allowed her to rest there for a while longer. The cooling breeze on their bare skin told of the approaching sunset and they moved apart slowly, knowing they needed to return to camp.

Needing then, even more than before to clean up a bit, she looked out over the water for the abandoned bottle of soap. It bobbed along peacefully toward the center of the pond and she grinned at that. He stopped her when she would have gone in after it, diving cleanly into the water instead to swim out after the object.

He tossed it up on the dock, once retrieved, with an audible huff before climbing back up from the water.

Remembering how the first attempt had gone, she opted this time to dip her shirt in the water again to get it wet before lathering it like a wash rag with the bodywash. He stayed her again, though, before she could begin the motions to wipe the days of grime and sweat from her body.

Wordlessly, he took the material from her and she surrendered it with a questioning frown.

His eyes were downcast, though, nervous almost, as he began to move the cloth over her body, spreading suds as he went. She let her hands drop down to her sides and shivered at the wonder of his touch as it grew bolder. There wasn't a place on her body that he didn't skim with the wet material and there were several he returned to without the excuse of a cloth in hand to simply caress and explore.

Her body was on the brink again when he finished coating her with the soap and dropped, unexpectedly, to rinse the garment out.

She wanted to tumble him back and straddle him again, seeing him erect again, but he lathered the shirt up again and handed it to her. Given the unspoken invitation to cleanse and touch him, she could do nothing else.

The scars on his flesh drew her fingers like flame did moths, but she had the sense not to ask. Instead, she simply tried to replace some of the old hurts with a better memory, by touching each mark with gentle strokes of cloth and finger. She would have tried kissing them, too, were it not for the tension that invaded his muscles at just her caressing, reminding her that there was a limit to the gentleness he would or could accept from even her.

She knelt to wash his feet and legs, working upward. Her scrubbing hands went to his butt, weighing the small, tight cheeks in her palms for a moment. The position put her mouth at level with his shaft. She remembered the hesitant want with which he had guided her mouth to take him inside and she wanted to pleasure in that way when she'd always before hated every aspect of the act. Her tongue was curious for the taste and texture of his release, not content to have just lapped a sample of it from his stomach earlier.

He didn't allow her the chance to do that, though, toppling her backward with a muttered oath from which she could decipher only the words "killing" and "me."

Her body rejoiced in the rush with which parted her legs and knelt between them. He didn't drive home, though, as she would have expected and she arched her hips upward in silent summons for him to get back inside her.

At his hesitation, she looked down the length of her body to see him between her wantonly sprawled limbs. The sight made her blush and she could practically hear her old-fashioned mother shrieking at the sluttish abandon, but she stifled it as he placed a hand on her knee then began to slide it along the inside of her thigh.

There was an uncertainty to his touch that froze her breath in anticipation of what he may have planned for her. His fingers skimmed over the curls that shielded her most vulnerable place and he raised his eyes to hers in askance before he allowed a single digit to slip between the moist folds that awaited his penetration.

Finding her wet, embarrassingly so to her thinking, he looked down to where his hand began to move between her legs and then he looked back to her with another question in his gaze. Blushing with equal parts mortification and excitement, she simply nodded with no idea what he intended, bite down on her lip and tipped her head back to look away from the vision of him _there_.

His finger moved from her and she wanted to cry out in protest, but it returned after just a moment in which she felt his body shifting. A second finger joined the first, slipping between her lips and v-ing to spread her open. She felt the bristles of his beard first, sensed them tangling with the short curls covering her and tensed in shock. The first touch of his tongue was so quick and hesitant that she didn't even feel it while her mind was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was even thinking of 'going down on her.'

No one ever had and she'd never even thought of wanting anyone _to_ do it. Even in this so-called enlightened age, it still seemed something that her mother would say "simply wasn't done."

Thankfully, Daryl didn't seem inclined to care what Carol's long dead mother may have thought or said and Carol was inclined to forget most everything else in the world when his tongue firmed and swiped with more confidence from the bottom to the top of her slit. There was no denying the electrical current that shot through her at that lick and it shocked a cry from her lips as her fingers scrambled to find his shoulders.

She wanted to push him away and hold him down at the same time and could only cling as her body fought the conflicting urges. He seemed intent on achieving some goal in his own head and paid no attention to her hands, whether they accepted or rejected.

Over and over, he licked and lapped at her, sometimes thrusting his fingers or tongue inside her to make her clench in want of the more solid length of his shaft. Her head thrashed on the wooden planks beneath them while her thighs clamped down to hold him immobile against her core.

At some point, her hands had given up any thought of pushing him away and they were both locked in his hair to insure he wouldn't go further from her flesh than was required to draw the occasional breath.

It was maddening and addicting and she felt like her body was going to tear or snap in two. Then he locked his lips around her clit, applied the faintest suction and gave the hidden nub just the hint of pressure from his teeth and she found herself shattering into more than just two simple pieces.

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><p>*This* was supposed to be the last chapter. I started off writing it all excited thinking I could see just the perfect place to stop this one and call it to focus on my other incompletes and I was feeling such a sense of accomplishment to have written so much on this one over the last few days. All premature, dammit. My Daryl muses have apparently taken offense to my daring to even hint at him being anything but perfect at all things oral back in last chapter-if you missed it, please pretend like it never happened because he's easily embarrassed and *so* hates it. But, anyway, I started typing this up and they hijacked the scene to drag it out and I can't be upset with them for that even if it means I have to think up another Daryl POV chapter to end the series on. I kind of already have it in mind, but have to get to bed for work in the morning and can't write it yet, especially since I'm sure Carol will want more to say after whatever the next chapter brings and they're just not going to let this thing be and stay finished.<p>

And I'm really growing a little concerned with how I refer to them like actual people in my life...


	11. Chapter 11

Her scream filled the air and his chest puffed with pride at wringing such a loud sound from her.

He could hardly breathe with the way her legs were holding tight to his ears while she ground herself up against his mouth, but air was overrated. He rather liked his hair, though, so he raised his hands to try gently prying her fingers from the strands she was trying to use like reins to guide him.

Daryl worked his way free of her grasp and moved up her shuddering length to get a better look at the result his efforts had achieved.

She was unfocused on anything beyond the air she pulled into her heaving lungs. Her eyes were clenched shut, head pressed hard into the wood of the dock and throat arched in surrender. The convulsions of her body seem to worsen when he settled his hips between her thighs and his hand went instinctively to her hip in a soothing gesture.

It failed in that objective as she twisted in his grip until his dick found its way through her curls to brush over her sweet little clitty. Her eyes flew open at the contact while his damned near crossed.

"I can't…," she panted, hands grabbing blindly for his shoulders. "take…no more…"

Not believing that for a moment, he knew more than she believed that there was no end to what she was capable of taking much, much more and in ways that went far beyond their stolen time in this place. Choosing not let thoughts of that bigger picture intrude just yet, he ignored her panted protest and moved his hand from her hip to his pecker to line it up.

She stilled at the way he allowed the tip to circle her entrance for just a moment, enjoying the wetness there before pushing in. Despite her words to the contrary, she welcomed and encouraged him immediately, those panting, moaning sounds picking up again while her limbs embraced him.

The feel of every inch of her wrapped around every bit of him was better than any damned drug he'd experimented with and he knew he'd been twitching for more come night fall, no matter that this would be his third orgasm of the day. When he considered that the number of days he'd gone without release could be counted back to just after this whole nightmare began-further if he didn't count jerking himself off, as he had done that last time before this day-it didn't surprise him much to be so hungry.

That it was better than he'd ever known before in his life just made him aware that the compulsion to be with her in every way possible was going to be all the stronger now.

After all the pills, powders and alcohol he'd had laid before him in his life, this was the thing he'd become hooked on.

Wanting space from the need, he unwound from her to rear back on his knees. He pulled her legs from his hips, hooked his hands under the slender limbs then pushed out and up. The position spread her beneath him to sink in further, from a slightly different angle and she was screaming again before he even started to move,

She shook apart beneath him with her mouth gaping on a scream that came out barely a croak and _this_ was his real narcotic.

Making, watching and hearing her come.

When Daryl Dixon found something he was good at, he kept at it, relishing the knowledge that there was maybe _something_ not completely fucked about his existence. Not only was this not fucked up, it felt right for once.


	12. Chapter 12

Carol moved slowly around the clearing, gathering arrows and savoring the sideways glances Daryl kept giving her as he did the same.

With the chore done, she moved to collect her bow and slung it over her shoulder in a move that she could imagine becoming as natural as the way Daryl swept up his own weapon and shrugged on its sling. She smiled at him in that moment when they had both settled their respective straps across their torsos, liking their symmetry in the instant.

He returned the gesture with one of those wry twists of his lips that made her want to kiss him, but she knew that even the most casual caress would likely lead to them rolling in the grass despite it all. She'd never really believed it was possible for a man to go more than once in a whole day, let alone three times in just a few hours. It was a novelty, she was sure, that would wear off, but she was going to allow herself to enjoy it however long it took their bodies to catch up on the fast that had been forced upon them.

His fingers deliberately brushed her bare arm as he moved past her to collect their dirty clothes from where she had piled them along with her supplies and she huffed out a soft laugh at the contact in light of her own thoughts against such things. He gave her a curious glance over his shoulder at the sound, but she didn't try to explain her amusement since it was clear he wasn't going to follow the contact with anything more heated.

They split the accumulation of items between themselves, him taking more of the burden than she liked given that he still wasn't healed from his injuries. She made no effort to argue or take anything from him, learning slowly to accept that he was the kind of man that simply had a compulsion to carry more than his own weight.

Without a word, they shifted toward one another to begin the return journey to the camp. Had he been anyone else and their hands not been full, she imagined they would have strolled along hand in hand. Daryl Dixon wasn't the type to hold hands, though, and she knew that the occasional brush of his shoulder against her own was as close as she was likely to get to sentimental contact.

Somehow, it was enough for her, too.

The atmosphere at camp was a little tenser when they returned to it, the sun having sunk below the horizon before they completed the trek. Their arrival back among the group didn't alleviate all of the stress, though, but she wasn't of a notion to worry about the drama they may have missed in their idyll.

Feeling an actual want for food for the first time since that fateful fish fry, she deposited her share of arrows in Daryl's tent, noticing the others and the roughly made quiver among the items in his shelter when she poked her head in this time. The evidence of all the time and thought he had devoted to her without her having any awareness of a thing but her grief sent a pang of regret through her. He deserved better, no matter what he may think, and she promised herself she would really try now.

For him.

Set in that resolve, she pulled back to allow him to toss in his arrows before they moved quietly to the RV so she could put the supplies back in their place in the camper. He handed the items he carried up to her and stayed outside the shelter while she straightened up a bit, knowing it would be the last time she treated this space as her home. With that done, she took the dirty clothes he held as well as the few articles that he had let her bring back and put them on the tarp the women used as an odd kind of hamper for the unwashed garments of the group.

The domestic harmony with which they moved continued and conveyed itself to the group, bringing a surprised yet pleased grin to Dale's otherwise worried face. There was no doubt what Daryl and she had been doing off alone for the whole of the day, but Daryl didn't show any upset or temper over that this time. He, like she, was probably too satiated physically and hungry for some food to recover some of the energy they'd spent.

Dinner hadn't been held for them and Lori gave her a regretful shrug at that, but Carol didn't mind. She found a pair of clean plates and some silverware and went to the picnic table where the remains of the meal still sat.

There were three pieces of fried chicken left and she wondered if Hershel had sanctioned the menu or if the others had simply taken from the farmer whatever they felt the need or want to eat. Given the last events she remembered clearly from the interactions with their host, she somehow sensed that they, meaning Shane, were little more than squatters now, draining the land even further of the magic that had so appealed to them all before the day outside the barn.

Daryl's frown in the faint light cast from the low burning fire brought her from those thoughts and she pushed the gladly from her mind. The disintegration of the group was a disappointment and concern, but there were enough individual triumphs, such as Maggie for Glenn and Daryl for herself, that Carol forced that brighter thought to the forefront.

Once the plates were set down on the table, she moved, out of habit, to begin filling his first, but he stopped that with a speaking glance. She shrugged in quiet apology, another habit he frowned upon, then selected the smallest piece of chicken from the trio for herself.

A scoop of canned corn and fried greens likely picked from the fields completed her meal. It was simple and more than enough for her, but he still tried to force the chicken breast on to her plate. She put it right back on his plate and challenged him to just eat the damned food already.

He wasn't cowed by the glare she gave him, but he was hungry and sensible enough to accept her choice after having at least tried to get her to eat more, so he began to consume his rations quickly. Her pace was slower, but the hunger also evident in the attention she paid to the food as they sat there alone together. None of the others approached them, but Carol often felt the gazes directed toward the table.

Daryl cleaned his plate, sat with her for a moment while she finished her portions then rose. Their eyes met, his questioning and hers answering without hesitation, and he gave her a quick nod of understanding before turning to go to his tent.

The leftovers were few, but she still went into the RV for containers to put the vegetables in. She wasn't in the mood to take the time to wash up completely after the meal, but she felt up to contributing some to the camp again and did gather the dirty dishes to take inside and place in the empty sink of the Winnebago.

Her belongings were few and all fit in her shoulder bag with just an armful of leftovers to carry across the camp. She gazed sorrowfully for a moment at Sophia's things in the bottom dresser drawer before she deliberately closed it and left the items behind.

Later, sometime much later, she would empty the space of those now useless articles.

Without a word to the group still gathered tensely around the fire, she crossed the camp with her possession in hand and approached his tent slowly. Seeing the flap lowered and a light on in welcome inside the shelter, she knew that she had been right about the meaning of their last exchange.

He was straightening up when she ducked inside, moving his things around the bedding he had spread out to cover more of the canvas floor. She would set herself to making it homier for them tomorrow, but for the night it looked like a five-star hotel room just as it was.

She found a corner to put her things in, toed off her shoes and knelt down beside him. He stopped fussing then, settling back on his own heels for a moment before moving around her to close the tent flap. Neither of them undressed before shuffling to lie down. He pulled a light blanket up over them once she'd turned off the little battery operated lantern.

As she had most often seen him do, Daryl settled on to his back to sleep, tucking both his hands beneath his head as an additional pillow to the pile of clothing he'd arranged to cushion their heads.

As she had wanted to do since the first night he had lain down on the floor of the Winnebago, so close but so far from her, Carol turned into his body.

Her head scooted around his chest until her ear heard the beat of his heart beneath it and she nuzzled in there, claiming the spot as her own customized pillow. She tucked a leg carefully between his, enjoying the simple yet intimate brush of their bare feet connecting. Her arm she draped over his waist, finger hooking in a belt loop on his pants to secure her hold.

While her body was relaxing in to his in preparation to sleep, his held a tension she hoped was only due to a foreignness of him actually just _sleeping_ with a woman.

After a few minutes, he removed an arm from under his head and lowered it to lay over her own and minutes after that, they both fell into an actual sleep.

* * *

><p>That's it. I'm calling it. My muses are ready to refocus on other incompletes.<p>

May 2012 bring us all lots of Caryl.

And is it too much to ask of the series to give me a scene in Dary's tent? For some reason that setting is like a magnet to my muses right now.


End file.
